


The Summer That Made Us

by writelights



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Benvolio, Graffiti, Homophobia, Marching Band, Multi, References to Shakespeare, The Importance of Being Earnest - Freeform, self-indulgent af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-09-28 14:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writelights/pseuds/writelights
Summary: note to self: don't be gay in Indiana.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary taken from The Prom, which is a fantastic musical that you should go listen to right now.
> 
> Fair warning, this is going to be the most self-indulgent fic ever written so just be prepared for that.

Not even the music blaring from Benvolio’s earbuds could distract him from the way this bus ride felt like a trip to his death. He stared out the window and tried to count the birds on the telephone line, starting over each time he lost count. Something classical was playing on the speakers just loud enough for him to hear it ever so slightly over the Queen playing from his phone. **  
**

It was his favorite song, though he tried not to pay too much attention to the lyrics, merely focusing on the beat and Freddie Mercury’s voice. “Delilah” isn’t exactly the best of songs to listen to while travelling to your demise.

In truth, Benvolio didn’t want to admit he was scared. He didn’t know why he was scared, he’d surely done enough research on his destination. Verona, Indiana was a somewhat small and liberal town with a population consisting mostly of wannabe hippies and stray cats. His aunt and uncle were kind enough, as were their children.

He pressed his cheek to the window and tried his best to fall asleep. He had around three more hours of nothing but cornfields and telephone wires until he arrived in Verona. The song that played next was something from the ‘90s that he couldn’t quite remember the name of yet knew all the same.

-

The town of Verona was larger than Benvolio had imagined, and it seemed like all of the houses were unusual colors. The one that really struck his fancy was light orange with a rainbow of potted orchids lining the driveway. It was odd, he thought, that someone would spend so much time and money on such high maintenance flowers such as orchids for lawn decorations.

He took a sip from the cheap coffee he’d bought from a shady old woman at the last bus stop. It tasted a bit odd, but not odd enough for him to care. It was caffeine and that was the only thing Benvolio was worried about at the moment. He had read the same line in his summer reading - A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway - approximately seventeen times.

The bus stopped at a bus stop - after all, where else would a bus stop - on the corner where the streets Barnabe Trail and Marlowe Avenue intersected. A boy wearing a green t-shirt and ratty basketball shorts sat on the bench, waiting for someone, Benvolio assumed. A few seconds later he realized it was most likely him who he was waiting for.

He shoved his book and earbuds in his backpack and descended the stairs of the bus, thanking the driver on his way out. Nervousness sat low in his belly, making it hard to breathe and even harder to keep his balance. “Benvolio?” the boy said, looking at him questioningly. Benvolio could only muster a nod. “Oh, hi! I’m Romeo, your cousin. Ma sent me to wait for you, I’ve been here for nearly ninety minutes! The bus really does run late, ya know?” He looked at Benvolio expectantly.

“I, well, I don’t really mind. More time to get my summer reading done.” He smiled awkwardly. “Now, can we please start heading to your home? My bag is a bit heavy, all those clothes and stuff.”

Romeo’s eyes fell on the galaxy print backpack. “Oh! Of course, follow me,” and he started leading Benvolio down Marlowe Avenue. “I like your backpack. My girlfriend has one quite similar to it, only yours is more colorful.”

Benvolio nodded. “I like colors. There was a time when I thought I’d be an artist, but alas, those days have passed.” He looked at the ground sadly before looking back up at his cousin. “Could you tell me about your girlfriend?”

“Her name is Juliet, Juliet Capulet.” Romeo smiled, he was obviously quite fond of her. “She’s very sweet, one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met. And she has the prettiest red hair, so do most of the Capulets, but I don’t care because it’s her and only she can make me feel this way.” He began walking up the driveway of a lavender house with dark green shutters. There was a younger boy in jean shorts and a striped polo sitting in the front yard pulling weeds.

“Who is-” Benvolio began, but Romeo cut him off.

“Valentine! What in the name of God are you still doing here? Wasn’t Mercutio supposed to pick you up, like, and hour ago?” The boy - Valentine - looked up at Romeo with wide eyes before getting up and wiping his hands on his shorts.

“He said he didn’t want to take me to rehearsal,” he said, “ and I said I’d much rather continue working with the flowers than watch him run lines for that dumb play about burying bunnies or some crap.”

Benvolio looked between them, waiting for some sort of explanation. None was offered, only Romeo sighing a shaking his head. “ _The Importance of Being Earnest_ is a wonderful play, Valentine, and I think you’d appreciate it if only you’d pay attention.”

“Just the other day I heard you telling Tio that it ‘fucking sucks.’” The most amusing part of this comment was the as-a-matter-of-fact face combined with the overdramatic air quotes. Benvolio had to stifle his laughter and Romeo shot him a glare, which is when Valentine finally seemed to notice him. “Your mum’s taking in another stray?”

Romeo nodded. “Valentine, this is Benvolio, my cousin,” he gestured from one boy to the other, “and Benvolio, this is Valentine, my best friend’s anthomanic little brother.” He seemed satisfied with himself despite Valentine’s protests. Benvolio cocked his head.

“Anthomanic?”

“Obsessed with flowers. Seriously, when he’s not in our flowerbed,” he jerked his head in the direction of the bed of petunias and marigolds, “he’s either in his own or reading about orchid bees or whatever it was he was rambling about the other day.”

Valentine snorted. “Meliponas. They’re going extinct.”

“Great. No one gives a fuck.”

As the two of them continued arguing, Benvolio spaced out. He wanted to pull his earbuds back out and pray to God that Spotify would play something at least somewhat tolerable, but he felt as if that would make a bad impression. Well, worse than one he already had, if his aunt had chosen to share why he was here in the first place. Instead he settled for his phone and began scrolling through his Twitter feed. A message popped up. He closed the app and put his phone away.

“Can we please go inside? My bag’s heavy and I’m hot and I just spent, like, five and a half hours on a bus.”

“Oh, yeah,” Romeo shot Valentine one last glare before shooing him away and making his way into the house. “Come on. Mum will want to see you rather quickly, but we can at least drop your stuff off in our room first.” At the word “our” Benvolio felt his stomach drop and he grabbed Romeo’s wrist to slow his down.

“Our room? As in, we’ll be sharing a room?”

Romeo just blinked at him for a second. “Yes, obviously. The girls already share a room, Mum didn’t want to put you with Balthasar because she said it’d be weird to have a ‘stray room,’ and that leaves, well, my room. I hoped you’d be okay with it, I helped set up your bed and made it and everything.”

Benvolio was beyond confused. He’d met his aunt and uncle a grand total of once, when he was maybe eighteen months old. He didn’t even remember the visit. He’d been told that they had a son around his age and two younger daughters. Nothing about “strays” or “Balthasar” or even the cat he’d seen lounging in the windowsill on his way in. He decided not to question it until he’d gotten at least fifteen hours of sleep. “No, it’s fine, I just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah. That makes sense,” by then they’d made it to the room and Romeo flopped down on the bed on the right. “What time is it? I have band practice at three.”

Benvolio placed his luggage by his bed and set down. “2:23,” he said. Romeo sat up quickly and pulled his shoes back on. “What instrument do you play?”

“Clarinet. Let me take you to Mum real quick, I really must be going.”

-

Romeo’s mother - Salvaza, she told him to call her - was nice, Benvolio came to find. She made him a lunch of ham and mustard sandwiches, crinkly potato chips, and iced tea. She asked him what he did for fun - “I like music, I guess, and sometimes I draw” - and inquired of any friends back home, which he assumed was her way of prompting him to mention the boy he’d been caught snogging (who was merely his study partner for the stupid geology class he’d signed up for on a whim, for the record).

She carefully danced around the matter of his sexuality, and for that he was grateful. It wasn’t something he’d discussed with anyone, really, and he definitely didn’t want his aunt to be the first person he actually came out to. When he blurted that Freddie Mercury was his favorite artist without thinking, she only nodded thoughtfully and took another sip of her tea.

They had been sitting there like that for what felt like a little over an hour when they heard the front door slam, footsteps so loud Benvolio felt his head was going to fall off, and a voice yelling “Romeo! Romeo! Where the fuck art thou Romeo?”

“Language!” Salvaza yelled back from her seat at the kitchen table.

The boy quickly entered the kitchen - apparently he’d followed her voice - and huffed a small, “sorry, Salvaza,” before plopping down in the chair to Benvolio’s right. “Why must they have band practice every single Tuesday,” he said the words with a melodramatic draw and Benvolio couldn’t decide whether it was endearing or irritating.

In truth, Benvolio was somewhat fascinated by the boy. He had a very small frame, his blond hair was unruly and his green eyes made of fire. Clothing wise, he wore floral patterned jeggings and a long sleeved black shirt that must be entirely too hot for the sun of early June. He hadn’t yet noticed Benvolio sitting there (perhaps terrible observation skills are common among citizens of Verona) and was instead focused on shoving as many cheddar and sour cream potato chips into his mouth as possible. It wasn’t until he pointedly cleared his throat that the boy looked his way.

“Fuck, Salvaza, I thought you said you weren’t taking in any strays this summer?” It could have been insulting if he wasn’t saying it through a mouthful of half-chewed potato chips, but alas, Benvolio was extremely close to dissolving into a fit of giggles.

Salvaza sighed. “He needed a place to stay, and I had room to offer. Now please, Mercutio, watch your mouth before I am forced to wash it out with soap like I did when you were little.”

So this was Mercutio. Benvolio didn’t know what exactly he’d expected, but this definitely was not it. He snorted at Salvaza’s comment before looking Benvolio up and down. “Definitely from the Montague side,” he said, more to himself than anything. He picked up another chip and started munching on it. “What’s your name?”

“Benvolio.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why are you here?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” he snapped. He wasn’t expecting the look of surprise that crossed Mercutio’s face before he burst into laughter.

“You’ve got some fight in you. I like that,” he said through giggles. He reached out to touch Benvolio’s arm, but the other boy pulled away.

“Don’t touch me, I don’t like it when people touch me.” Mercutio looked surprised, but did not question it. “Now please, I’d like to take a nap before dinner, if that’s okay. Bus rides make me uncomfortable and it’s also kind of weird that y’all are being so nice to me after, well, you know.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Salvaza said. “You remember where your room is?”

“Yes.” He stood up and dusted off his hands, opting to leave his half-finished sandwich and plate on the table rather than spending any more time downstairs. 

As he left, he heard Mercutio whisper “who shoved a stick up his ass?” followed by a heavy sigh and the sound of a chair being moved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lads, Mercutio is such an overdramatic nerd.

Mercutio did not like it when people were mad at him. Sure, it was something he was used to, but that did not mean he enjoyed it, like, at all. He pushed his chair back in order to stand up, to leave, but Salvaza stopped him. “He’s like you,” she said, so quiet Mercutio thought he might of imagined it.

“What do you mean?” he had no idea why they were talking so quietly, but he felt that to break the pattern was to defy the will of God or something beautifully metaphorical like that.

Salvaza tilted her head, apparently trying to find a way to word what she was thinking. “He prefers the company of men,” she finally settled on, and it was true that there were worse things she could have said.

“You mean he’s gay.” Mercutio enjoyed using the word “gay” because of the discomfort it seemed to cause people. Hell, he’d gone to see Love, Simon right after it came out and written a review on it for the town newspaper. Half the town couldn’t look him in the eye for at least a month.

“Yes,” Salvaza said. It was evident that she was choosing her words carefully. “That’s why his father sent him here, as far as I know.”

“Because he likes snogging boys? What kind of homophobic bullshit-”

“I know.” Salvaza wasn’t one to interrupt people, and so it caught Mercutio off guard when she did. “He shouldn’t be here, he doesn’t want to be here, and so you should be kind to him. He might have a boyfriend back home or something, I don’t know, my brother-in-law wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Mercutio shook his head. “I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

“I want you to be a friend, Mercutio.”

-

He sat in the living room picking at his script while he waited for Romeo to return home from practice. He wasn’t actually running lines, in truth he wasn’t even looking at them. It was bold of Salvaza to assume he knew how to make friends. Romeo was a mistake, a mess up, a “we were thrown together in kindergarten and the rest is history” type situation.

Benvolio was upstairs, asleep in the bed Mercutio had been starting to consider his own. It was where he slept when his father kicked him out or when he felt his little brother needed some time away. He was angry, just slightly frustrated by the prospect of having to sleep on Romeo’s floor again.

And speak - or rather, think - of the devil: He heard the front door open and close and the very distinct sound of Romeo’s footsteps. He came into the living room and his eyes brightened when he saw Mercutio. “Where’s Benvolio?” he inquired.

“Asleep. How was practice?”

“It went well, surprisingly enough. We set more drill and Tybalt’s trombone got stepped on, so that was fun.” He sat down next to him and took a swig from the Sprite that had been sitting on the coffee table.

Mercutio smirked. “Serves him right. Where’s Balthasar?”

“Oh, he went to fetch Valentine so they could go to the park together. He’s head over heels and poor Valentine’s absolutely oblivious, it’s kind of cute.” But the thing is, Mercutio didn’t find it cute. He found it terrifying. He didn’t want them to go through the same shit he did freshmen year, all the teasing and name calling and other various abuse. And he didn’t even have a boyfriend.

“Someone needs to prepare them, if they’re going to continue whatever it is they have. I don’t want Valentine showing up on your doorstep at two a.m. with a broken wrist and tears in his eyes.” It was then that some sort of realization flashed in Romeo’s eyes.

“It’s not fair what you went through, not by any means,” he said, and Mercutio knew where this was going before it got there, “but you can’t prevent their happiness because of your past.” He said it so earnestly and that only made Mercutio angrier.

He did not explode. Mercutio was not one to explode. Instead he quietly excused himself and trudged up the stairs to Romeo’s bedroom, prepared to flop down on the bed. It was only when he was greeted with a groggy “what the hell are you doing” that he was reminded of Benvolio’s existence.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered, but he didn’t go to leave. Instead he just looked at Benvolio expectantly, waiting for him to make some scathing about how rude it is to wake up napping strangers. But the boy did not snap at him. He simply sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair before turning to look at Mercutio.

“I really, really, really don’t want to be here.” He picked up his phone, took one glance at the screen, and threw it back down on the bed. “My friend is blowing up my phone asking if I want to hang out and I don’t know how to tell her that I’m not even in California at the moment.”

Mercutio sat down gingerly on the bed beside him. For a second he considered reaching out to touch him, but then remembered his comment in the kitchen. “You didn’t tell her you were leaving?”

“Didn’t have a chance. I got home from school yesterday in a fairly good mood and then Mum and Dad told me over dinner that I ‘need to spend some time in a holier place.’ The only thing that’s funny about that is the wording.” He smiled in an oddly broken way and Mercutio could have sworn he felt his heart break into two right then and there.

“I don’t know what their idea of a holy place is, but I really don’t think it’s here.” He thought back to all the bullying, the name-calling, his broken wrist. “I wouldn’t recommend being gay in Indiana to anyone, except maybe Trump, so he can understand how we feel.”

“I never said-” he cut off and Mercutio could see the large variety of emotions crossing his face in the span of maybe ten seconds. “When you said that, you said ‘how we feel.’ You’re…?”

“I’m gay, yes. What is it with people not wanting to say the word? What do they want us to say? ‘Yeah, I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’ This isn’t 1913 and life isn’t an E.M. Forster novel.” Much to Mercutio’s pleasure, Benvolio chuckled slightly.

“You like classic lit?”

“Only if it has gay subtext, which is most classic lit. So yeah, I’d say I like classic lit. The whole ‘unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort’ thing is actually from _Maurice_ by E.M. Forster, where the subtext isn’t subtext, it’s just text.” Much to Mercutio’s surprise, he was actually beginning to enjoy this conversation. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the biggest fan of it myself, but I read _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ in eighth grade and it just kind of stuck with me, if you will.” He was picking anxiously at the hem of his shorts and Mercutio wanted nothing more than to reach out and stop him, so he once again had to remind himself that some people where not as comfortable with physical contact as he was.

“Oh! By Oscar Wilde. I’m actually currently in one of his plays, he’s an excellent writer. He’s also a very interesting person to read about, if you’re interested in some early gay rights stuff. I think I have a biography at home, if you’d like to borrow it sometime…” he trailed off, looking at Benvolio intently.

It took him a minute or two to formulate a reply, it was quite apparent that his mind was going in every possible direction at once. “Romeo mentioned something about you being at rehearsal earlier. _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , wasn’t it? We read it in English class last year.”

“Yeah, I auditioned for Jack, but Laurence said I had the right dramatic flair for Algernon, so I somehow ended up as Algernon? I don’t really know how that came to be, but I’m not really in a place to fight it.” Mercutio liked Algernon, he really did. He was just far more fond of Jack.

Benvolio nodded slowly, picking up his phone again. “My school did _Shrek_ last year. I was in the ensemble, mostly because I didn’t really have anything better to do, but it was definitely enjoyable.”

“Our school doesn’t have the funding for a theatre teacher, let alone a troupe. Laurence is trying his best with what he’s got, but most of us are high schoolers and actual real adults with, like, jobs and families and shit.” He sighed and rested his head against the wall. “Who’re you texting?”

“Elisa, the friend I mentioned earlier. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’ll be better to tell her sooner rather than later that I won’t be able to hangout until school starts back up, and I guess there’s no time like the present.” He typed a bit more and then set his phone back down. “She’s gonna have my head, you know.”

Mercutio cocked his head. “Why in the world would it be your head she’d have? It’s not like it’s your fault you’re here.”

“But the thing is, it kind of is? I let fucking Cecil Brunner from geology kiss me while we were supposed to be studying for finals. He’s not even that cute, and I seriously doubt he gives a shit that I ended up here. He’s got a boyfriend. He fucking cheated on his boyfriend and I’m the one who’s getting punished for it.”

Much to Mercutio’s credit, he somehow managed to not make a joke about the fact that Benvolio took geology when it looked like the other boy was very near tears. “I know it’s probably not much, but I give a shit. You shouldn’t be here, you don’t want to be here, and I know it’s going to be hard to make the best of it, but can’t we try?” He reached out his hand and let it hover a few inches above Benvolio’s arm. “Can I touch you? I know you said you don’t like it, but it’s really the only comfort I know how to offer.” Much to Mercutio’s surprise, Benvolio nodded.

They sat like that for a bit, Mercutio’s hand on Benvolio’s arm, saying nothing. It was odd yet comfortable, and neither of them felt any immediate need to change their position. It was when there was a knock on the door that Mercutio jerked his hand away and called, “come in!”

A girl with extremely pretty blond hair stuck her head in and said, “hey, so Romeo wants to know if it’s safe for him to come up to grab a change of clothes without anyone attempting to break his knees.” Her eyes then fell on Benvolio and she opened the door the rest of the way. “You must be Benvolio. I’m Liliana.” She held out her hand as if waiting for him to shake it before realizing that he was a good six feet away and not planning on moving anytime soon.

Benvolio spoke up before Mercutio could, and it occurred to him that he had not in fact told Benvolio why he had come up there in the first place. “Yes, of course it’s okay. Breaking someone’s knees in their own bedroom is extremely impolite,  you know.” Liliana giggled before scurrying off once again, presumably to go get Romeo.

-

That night, as Mercutio laid in a nest of blankets and discarded pillows on the floor of Romeo’s room, he resigned himself to the belief that maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it's extremely important to the plot, this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, and for that I'd like to apologize.

Silence. It was the one thing Benvolio hated about Verona above everything else. It was so quiet, with no cars, no voices, no sirens. Nothing but the crickets and Romeo’s soft snoring. Somehow the silence seemed louder than all the noise back home.

He’d been glancing at the clock above Romeo’s desk every few minutes for the past hour, trying to will himself to sleep. He hadn’t had any trouble sleeping in the week he’d been there, it was about time for the insomnia to kick in.

Finally, after another ten minutes of just lying there, he sat up and looked down at Mercutio’s nest on the floor. “Mercutio?” he called, quietly so as not to wake Romeo up (Romeo was an extremely light sleeper, he’d learned that the hard way).

“What?” He sat up slowly, his blond hair sticking up in at least twelve dozen different directions.

“I can’t sleep.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” he snapped, flopping back down on his blankets. “I’m not, like, Hypnos or something.”

Benvolio sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Sorry, I just… I’ve dealt with insomnia since seventh grade and sometimes it’s just really hard. I just want to go home, you know? It’s far too quiet here.”

At that, Mercutio got up from his nest and held his hand out to Benvolio, a gentle look on his face. “Come on, I won’t bite,” he said, wiggling his fingers when Benvolio looked at him questioningly. After a moment, Benvolio took his hand and allowed him to pull him up off the bed. He let him lead him out of the room and down the stairs, and eventually out the front door. At some point their fingers ended up laced together, though Benvolio wasn’t exactly sure when.

“Where are we going?” Benvolio asked. He had to walk quickly in order to match Mercutio’s pace, but he didn’t mind. He liked the feeling of the cool night air on his face as he did his best to keep up.

“I want to show you something.”

It then became clear to Benvolio that he wasn’t going to find out until they got there, so he simply decided to enjoy the trip. They walked until Marlowe Avenue dead-ended and farther still, into the woods that skirt Verona. It smelled of nature and honeysuckle, and the moss was soft against his bare feet. He was extremely aware of his hand in Mercutio’s, their fingers tangled and their palms pressed together. It was nice. He didn’t want to admit that he’d like to do it again sometime.

“Here we are,” he said at last. They were standing in a clearing just off the main trail. It looked as if no one had set foot there for ages. Benvolio could hear running water from where they were standing - a stream, most likely. “Valentine and I used to hide here when Father was angry, before we had Romeo’s house to go to.”

Benvolio squeezed his hand. He felt as if the Earth was going to swallow them whole, that the stars were going to fall down and kill them both. “Thank you,” he said, “I love it.”

“I thought you would,” Mercutio replied. He let go of Benvolio’s hand and laid down on the grass, patting the ground next to him. “It’s a good place to look at the stars, if you’d like.”

Benvolio lowered himself to the ground next to him and tried not to shiver. Dew covered the grass, and he was only in his pajamas, but Mercutio was warm against his side. The stars were beautiful, and the moon was full. “When I was little,” he began, “I used to try and count them.” And though he couldn’t see his face, he knew Mercutio was smiling.

“Father used to take the three of us boys camping before Mum died. I loved the stars almost as much as I loved the trip itself,” he said. He felt Mercutio’s hand reach over and take ahold of his once again, and he could have sworn he felt his heart leap into his throat. “There’s so many of them. It makes you realize how insignificant we actually are.”

Mercutio’s thumb stroked the inside of his wrist and Benvolio decided that the butterflies in his stomach were not in fact butterflies, but wild buffalo. It shouldn’t be like this. He was here to will the gay away, not fall in love with a boy. No matter how pretty, or intelligent, or poetical the aforementioned boy was, damn it.

“You’re waxing poetic about how insignificant we are, but do you truly believe that? We have the power to create life, to fall in love, to change the fucking world if we only try hard enough. We’re here, we’re queer, and we’re not going anywhere, so why don’t we make the best of it?”

“And you say I’m the one waxing poetic!” Mercutio exclaimed. “You say we can change the world, but we’re just a couple of teenage boys in a small town no one’s ever heard of. What could we possibly do?”

Benvolio turned his head and studied Mercutio’s profile for a few moments before looking back at the sky. “We could plant a few trees, or we could start a local ‘save the bees’ campaign? Even little things like that could make a difference in the long run. It might not be a big difference, but it’s a difference all the same.”

Mercutio sat up and looked down at Benvolio, and God, he really shouldn’t like that position so much. “You speak as if we have the blood of the Gods running through our veins, as if even the smallest thing could save the world. But that’s not how it works. Benvolio, we’re only a tiny bit of stardust in a world full of planets.”

He reached up and stroked Mercutio’s cheek, trying to ignore the way the other boy leaned into his touch. “And that’s where you’re wrong. We’re so much more than that,” and Mercutio’s lips were on his before he could register what was happening, and Benvolio knew he could die a happy man.


End file.
